


Streets That Fade in the Setting Sun

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Guardians of the Whills, Jedha, M/M, Slow Build, Temple of the Whills, The Force, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: He’d run his little clothing stall for going on three years now, since he was just fifteen standard years, but Baze Malbus was sure he’d never enjoyed it a day in his life.





	Streets That Fade in the Setting Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jorge Luis Borge's poem _Limites/Limits_ , of which you can read a translation [here](https://paulweinfieldtranslations.wordpress.com/2013/09/07/jorge-luis-borges-limits/). I can't believe I forgot to mention that this started off inspired by Black Snow. Yes, Baze is my own little Space Quanzi (I mean, sorta).

He’d run his little clothing stall for going on three years now, since he was just fifteen standard years, but Baze Malbus was sure he’d never enjoyed it a day in his life. Not the work itself, anyway. There was the occasional source of amusement in NiJedha, of course, in watching lost pilgrims stare around in wonder, in the parading, chanting hoards of this faction or that faction headed into the Holy Quarter. Fights were the most interesting, until they got too close and threatened the merchandise; then, they were just more work. He had his eye on this one for just that reason: rival gangs having a little spat in the street was common enough, but judging when to get involved was a delicate art even after all these years. There were rules to live by: In case of fistfights, there was the option of being a spectator or taking bets; if firearms were a possibility, better to hunker down out of anyone’s line of sight. There were gangs one could shoo away safely enough with a stunner and those that weren’t to be toyed with. And Baze had seen just about everything, he thought, so puzzling out the way to approach this particular brawl was uncomfortably confusing.

His initial instinct had been to break it up on principle – three men ganging up on someone he’d thought to be a clueless kid was not something he’d stand for. But he had a _feeling_ , as he sometimes did, and hesitated, watching. After a few minutes there was no doubt that the solo fighter had instigated the whole thing, and what’s more, he was holding his own with ease, as if fighting off gangsters (albeit the lowest of the low on the pay scale) was a hobby. And maybe it was; he noticed, too, that the young man – not _such_ a kid, not much younger than himself – was unlikely to come this far into the seedier part of the city often. Perhaps this was a typical routine, new only to those here in NiJedha’s core. He wore robes, deep, night-sky blue, and his weapon was no ordinary pike. This man – who was, to his benefit, drawing a crowd that might not be bad for business – was undoubtedly a follower of the Guardians of the Whills. That explained his fighting technique, too, and his burnished wooden staff, both ancient, obscure things one would only pick up within the order. Baze’s knowledge of the Force cultists was sketchy at best despite having grown up in their holy city; here, this far from the Temple and from the luxuries of life in the Holy Quarter, philosophy did not spread so quickly. One of their order had given him a tablet with their texts once, long ago, a gleaming little screen with scrolling words that the Guardian assured him would guide him on the difficult journey of a Jedhan orphan. Of course, the blasted thing was all in the northern dialect, and intractably mystical anyway, so Baze sold the thing for parts. Maybe the Guardian had been on to something after all, though. The credits _had_ kept him fed a few days, strong enough to make his way into the trade district and find work. On his less cynical days Baze thought that it had been part of the plan, but for the most part considered that the plan had mainly been to keep the unsightly elements relegated to their corner of the city.

In any case, this monk – maybe the right term, maybe not, but either way it seemed odd to apply it to someone so gleefully smashing faces with a staff – _had_ found his way into the shadows here, and he was making a show of it. Even three-against-one, the gangsters were hopelessly outmatched, and the Acolyte ducked and dodged with such ease that he seemed to be dancing rather than fighting, his grace counterbalanced with ferociously hard strikes of his staff. Bleeding, stumbling, the gangsters – the two that were still conscious, anyway – turned to hobble away, dragging the third behind, and the monk didn’t bother to continue his pursuit. The lesson had been taught, Baze supposed, though his doubts rose once more when the youth produced a coin purse from his sleeve and proceeded to collect credits from the gathered crowd. Baze may not have known much about the monk’s alleged order, but he knew a con man when he saw one, and he did not appreciate them one bit.

“Hey, little monk,” he called, scowling all the more when the man only half-turned toward him before going right back to extorting the onlookers. “Are you taking alms or prize money?”

“It all goes to the same place,” the young man retorted, and Baze was struck at the pleasantness of his voice, the sunny-warm tone and softly northern-accented edges of his words. “Those three have been snatching purses, by the way, so I chased them all the way down here.” He snorted. “You’re welcome.”

“We handle our own _all the way down_ here,” Baze muttered defensively. “Go back to your castle. Don’t they teach you not to take from people who can’t afford it?”

“Interesting,” the monk went on, half-turning toward Baze again as he tucks away the pouch. “That you’re sure I’m the real thing. Usually I just get taken for a scammer.”

“You can be a monk and a scammer.” He rolled his eyes. “But those who are _only_ scammers don’t have weapons like that.”

Baze had no idea what to make of the beaming smile the other flashed, but he couldn’t deny its magnetism as his eyes lingered, dropping away when the other started toward him. “What are you selling, my friend?”

“I’m not your friend. You just robbed half my potential customers. You think they’re gonna pay us both?” He snatched a cloak off the rack at his side and waved it at him derisively. “What do you think I sell?”

Baze felt his heart drop into his stomach as the monk reached over, still looking nothing but serene and curious, to feel the fabric. Baze let himself take a better look at him, finally, and at last noticed the eerie blue of his eyes was something else entirely. Blue as the early morning sky, yes, and as cloudy, too, unfocused. This boy, this monk, this expert fighter, was _blind_. “Well, it feels like fabric,” he answered too jovially after a moment. “Soft. Probably women’s clothes.”

Baze’s ears burned. He had no particular respect for the Guardians of the Whills, and less for a con artist like this one, but he did have the sense not to mock a man for being blind, if he’d noticed before. “Women’s clothes,” he grumbled, desperately wishing he’d had the sense not to call out to this fool. He was going to linger, Baze could feel it. It wasn’t a sense of danger; he didn’t really expect that the other would try to steal merchandise or credits, or even to make an example of him as he had those thugs. This prickle at the back of his neck was something entirely unfamiliar. Perhaps, he considered, with a faint sigh as he watched the others nimble fingers map out the embroidery on the garment, it was the sense of impending aggravation. “So you have no reason to hang around. Go.”

The monk smiled again. “Are you here every day?”

“Just the days I want to eat,” Baze snapped, prying the cloak back from him and turning to hang it again. “Not everyone gets handed their credits.”

The monk’s expression faltered, instantaneously filling Baze with a confusing feeling of regret for having caused that smile to leave him. “I know that,” he murmured, the tone of a scolded child. “Maybe I want to buy something.”

“Bantha shit. Get out of here.”

Finally, solemnly, he did. Baze rubbed his eyes. How long had it been since someone had bothered to stop and talk to him? He’d sent him away almost out of habit. Still – it was for the best. The monk might not exactly be a scammer as he’d accused him, sure, but at the very least he was an opportunist, and Baze had enough of those in his life. At least one of those opportunists would be coming by to collect from him soon enough, and thanks to the brawl and ensuing bout of _charity_ , his sales were going to be down for the day. Scraping by might mean skipping out on the luxury of his rented room next week, instead half-sleeping on a pile of unsold clothes, trying to strike a balance between desperately needed sleep and the risk of getting robbed or worse. He wouldn’t risk being unable to settle his debt – not even once. He’d never paid late, a point of pride in a life that otherwise lacked any such self-congratulations. The last time he’d come close – he tried to shake the thought away, instead busying himself with swapping out items on display, calling out to a group of elderly women. He recognized at least one as an owner of a caf shop, the rest dressed like they had money to spare, and the whole lot standing around without a care in the world. Just the sort of potential customers he sought: credits to spare, which saved him the guilt of selling full-price for his half-quality offworld import garments; and in a _gaggle_ , gossiping, complaining and squawking like pharples. Grouchy old birds like that would always try to one-up each other in purchasing. Baze fished out a couple of wildly overpriced blouses from a case of things he hadn’t been able to move.

The last-minute flock of biddies was enough to safely earn him his four walls and a lock for the night. With his belongings – little more than his wares and a cart to move them – and himself indoors, he counted and socked away what he could afford to save, pondering the cut his boss would take at the end of the week. Lying on the thin palette, his thoughts wandered to the last places he wanted them, as they always did before sleep came along to save him. The first and last time he’d missed paying up on time… He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d given Sitrin almost everything he’d had. It was stupid, of course, but he’d known it was even then; he’d let himself be fooled. Sitrin was the closest he’d ever come to a friend, maybe the closest he ever would, and the guy had taken him for all he was worth – which wasn’t much – and took off. There were rumors he’d landed himself back in prison, but Baze couldn’t confirm, and could no longer be bothered to care. A year or so on, he had nearly managed to train the crushing, painful affection out of thoughts of him and replace them with fury. With thoughts of how he could nearly afford his own place by now if that bastard hadn’t robbed him blind. Of course, the tears stung his eyes just the same. Sniffling, he rubbed them furiously away and pushed aside the thought just as violently.

His mind wouldn’t clear completely, but he dreamed peacefully, at least – of that little trouble-making monk, with eyes like the sky and a smile like the sun.

Some tiny part of Baze, a part he was doing his best to firmly ignore, was disappointed when the monk did not turn up the next day, nor the next. In fact, Baze had fully resigned himself to never seeing the other again – and why should that bother him? The kid was a pest – when he reappeared a week later. There was no fight this time though (well, one, but early in the day and unrelated to the monk); rather, he spied him calmly waiting among a crowd of ladies, pecking and fussing and trying to haggle him down into the depths of the dusty earth. Baze knew he was doing it on purpose, acting calm and polite while his other customers buzzed noisily. Annoying him by way of affability. He was a con man, after all.

Baze was worn to the ends of his nerves by the time the monk reached the front of the slowly-dispersing group of buyers. He fixed him with his best impression of total apathy. “Looking for something?” He asked, dimly wondering if the man would believe he’d forgotten him. It struck him that it was possible that the monk, who was blind, after all, might not realize he’d wandered to his stall again, too, however unlikely.

But the smile he received in return assured Baze he was neither forgotten nor come across by accident, and that there was no fooling this one. “Looking might not be the word,” he joked, tilting his head slightly. “But I was hoping to buy something. Perhaps you can help me.”

“Yeah?” Baze made a point to help other customers as they approached, drifting away from the monk with practiced indifference. “I thought you all just wore those robes.”

The monk chuckled. “Who says it’s for me?”

“Assumed it was for another monk,” he shot over his shoulder at him, saving smiles and greetings for those who approached the other end of the kiosk. “I only ever see cultists like you with your own.”

“I’m an Acolyte,” the monk complained, his chipper tone turning sour. “And the Temple of the Whills is not a cult.”

“You know what? It’s not my business.” He turned back to him with a sigh only once he was out of other options. “This is my business. So what do you want?”

“Something nice for my girlfriend.”

“You’re allowed to have a girlfriend?”

He seemed to be only half-listening, fingers rubbing disapprovingly over a scarf. “Are you _allowed_ to pass this synth shit off as chersilk?”

“Quit that,” he growled, snatching it away. “Buy it or don’t.”

“What color is that one? She likes red.”

“Here – this one’s red. Fifty credits.”

The monk narrowed his ethereal blue eyes, and Baze struggled not to notice the charming crinkle at the corner of his eyelids. “Twenty.”

“Twenty? Tell that cult to stop brainwashing you, they’ve scrubbed it down to nothing.”

“Fine! Fine – thirty-five.”

“ _Forty_ -five, and leave me alone.”

He hesitated, as if it took every ounce of that trained strength he’d witnessed a week ago to hold back more words. Baze’s eyes landed squarely on his lips more times in the interim than he cared to admit. “I’ll give you fifty if you’ll let me stay a little while. And I’ll help you. I won’t bother you.”

“You’re already bothering me,” Baze sighed. “Are they going to come looking for you?” He tilted his head vaguely toward the distant, looming figure of the Temple. “Am I going to have to fight a bunch of Jedi or something?”

“I’m supposed to be patrolling the city,” he announced with a proud little grin. Baze rolled his eyes. Rebellious, indeed. “I didn’t say what part of the city.”

“Fine,” he relented, against his better judgment. Loneliness, it seemed, somewhat weakened his defenses. “Come around here. And don’t touch anything. And if you steal from me I swear I’ll kill you – are you listening?”

“Listening,” he chirped, practically vaulting over the kiosk to take a seat next to him. “I’m not here to make trouble.”

“What are you here for?” He didn’t bother to look back at him as he leaned over the stall with a disappointed frown at the relative emptiness of the streets, figuring that the blind man wouldn’t care much.

The monk fidgeted. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you again since I ran into you before.”

“Why?” Now he glanced back, brows furrowed in confusion. “If you’re shopping for a donation, you’re shit out of luck. I’ll be lucky to break even this week as it is.”

“I’ve never met someone like you.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing like that. I think it’s worthy to get to know the city before I take my next rank.”

Baze raised a brow skeptically. “I can’t say I’m interested in being studied. Besides, I’m no representative. It’s a big city, and I don’t get far from here myself. You’re probably better off with the pilgrims passing through the Holy Quarter.”

“I’ve been there my whole life.” He fidgeted. “It’s boring after seventeen years. This part of the city has a different spirit about it.”

Baze snorted. “I guess trying not to die isn’t _boring_ , I’ll give you that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered. “I felt drawn here, so I came.”

“Drawn here,” Baze wondered, more to himself than to the monk. “By the Force, right?”

“Of course.” He frowned slightly, leaning forward on his staff. “You don’t believe?”

“I don’t know,” Baze answered honestly. It couldn’t hurt, he figured, and it had been so long since anyone had asked him much of anything besides for a favor. “It’s hard to believe in something with such a purpose when you don’t have one yourself.”

The monk looked oddly fascinated by this answer. “That’s reasonable,” he said simply, tranquil face tilted toward him. “Have you ever come to the Temple?”

“My father took me for the pilgrimage when I was a little kid. I don’t remember, though.”

“You live alone now?”

“You’re nosy, monk.” Baze groaned and sat back at last, resigning himself to having no one to share the day with besides this strange, inquisitive young man. “Acolyte. Whatever. What do I call you, anyway?”

The wind had picked up, sending ice cold bursts between buildings, but when the monk smiled again, Baze felt oddly warm. “Chirrut,” he answered after a moment, and Baze savored the sound of it, the way it rolled from his mouth as if he was blowing a kiss. It brought a red tinge to the tips of his ears.

“Chirrut,” he repeated, albeit without any of the pleasant softness. “I’m Baze.”

“Baze,” he echoed thoughtfully. “It’s a solid sort of name.”

“My family was from the southern region,” he added as if it were more explanation than non-sequitur, deflecting lest his ears burn any hotter. “But – I’m on my own now, yeah. For a while, really.” He cleared his throat as if to dismiss any further travel down that line of questioning. “You’re young for a monk, yeah?”

“ _Acolyte_ ,” Chirrut corrected. “Seventeen standard years, which isn’t that young for my rank. I’ll be a full-fledged Guardian soon.”

“I don’t really know what any of that means.” Baze hardly realized how he was staring until a shopper startled him, approaching the kiosk and tapping his shoulder impatiently. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had held his attention that way. He heard Chirrut laugh softly as he whirled around to tend to the sale, and bartering through his wonder at how the other had _known_ was a challenge. Chirrut was still grinning when Baze turned back to him. “Quit laughing.”

Chirrut shook his head. “I think you do know what some of it means,” he said cryptically, returning to their previous conversation as if there had been no interruption at all. “You probably just have different words for it. Maybe not about the order, but about the Force. Feeling your place in the universe.”

“You promised not to bother me, remember?”

Chirrut drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin atop them placidly, still smiling. “I remember.”

  


So went the rest of the day, with Chirrut at some point falling into introspective quiet instead of constant rambling. He was annoying, sure, but he did have a sense for how to walk up to the line without crossing it, at least. When he headed back to the Temple with little more than a wave later in the day, Chirrut left behind fifty credits as promised. Baze felt a bit guilty taking it – he’d overcharged him for sure, and if he were to allow himself the thought, he would have admitted that he should be the one paying for company, not the other way around. He was startled at the truth of it all the more the next day, when Chirrut was nowhere to be found. One day of companionship was all it took to leave him with the ache of missing it again, which is exactly what he knew would happen – and why he’d known it was such a bad idea to begin with. By the time two more days went by alone as ever, Baze had started to build a story in his mind as he always did: Chirrut as a spoiled Temple-dweller in the market district as a tourist. Chirrut who saw him as _less than_ , who knowingly bought an overpriced piece of garbage from him as charity. Who gawked at him for a day then went back to a better life.

Of course, it wasn’t based on anything in reality. It was all an act of defense, a dome, a force field he could huddle beneath while he wondered if he could ever climb out of the hold he’d dug himself into. If Chirrut wasn’t coming back, and Baze had no real reason to think he would – even if he did, then for how long? How many times more before he faded away into the life of a Guardian? – it was easier to believe in this version of him, an aloof, spoiled, thoughtless creature. The thought of the real Chirrut was far more haunting. He was warm and friendly and seemed to want nothing but his time, and though their hours together had been brief, it had been a more comfortable day than any Baze could remember. Baze had always been good at reading people, but preferred his childish demonizations when they protected him. Chirrut was _good_ , so he had to be thoroughly prepared for him to disappear.

He came the next day, all smiles. “She loved it,” he nearly cooed, a voice like warmed Corellian brandy. “The scarf.”

Baze regarded him skeptically. It would be easy to let that tone intoxicate him, to wash away the sandcastle walls he’d been building up. “Yeah? What are you back for, then?”

Chirrut was undeterred by the harshness. “To see you, of course,” he said with a shrug. “And maybe to pick out something else.”

“You better not be doing this for charity,” Baze muttered. He was fairly certain there was no girlfriend, but it seemed a moot point to butt heads over with the obstinate monk.

“I’m not.” He fidgeted. “In fact, I don’t really have any money, I just—”

Baze groaned dramatically and stepped away from him to rearrange his wares on display. “I’m not giving _you_ charity, either.”

“I’m not looking for anything like that...”

“If you’re here to gawk at me, or anyone else trying to make a living here—” He gestured wildly to the street, forgetting for a moment that it would be lost on Chirrut. “Get it over with.”

“In general I find that gawking at anyone is a little out of my skill set...” Blind or not, it was clear he could feel the attempt at humor falling flat. “Baze, I didn’t mean to insult you by coming here.”

He sighed. “I know. Just – come on, come around if you’re going to stay.”

Chirrut appeared to genuinely consider it before stepping carefully around the kiosk to take a seat this time in contrast to his enthusiastic leap some days ago. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Really.”

Baze only shrugged, thought better of it, and added, “It’s alright.”

That was when Chirrut became a daily visitor. He was a chatterer of the highest degree, but Baze found it less aggravating than he let on; Chirrut’s voice was a pleasant soundtrack that broke up the monotony of long days alone trying to hawk whatever imports had been dropped on him that week. He wasn’t a bad salesman, either. No surprise for such a con man of a monk, he’d tease, but the help was welcome, and watching Chirrut charm customers of every age, species, and gender fathomable was as entertaining as it was profitable. When customers ran dry he’d turn his attention to Baze fully again, a phenomenon in which he could still hardly believe. Baze found himself remembering that he wasn’t private out of desire to be as much as the lack of anyone with whom to share much of anything besides bland comments on the weather or the state of local trade. Chirrut wanted to know him, and over the coming weeks, Baze found the offer impossible to turn down.

Chirrut, he came to learn, wasn’t exactly the spoiled prince he’d tried to imagine he might be. In fact, the Temple wasn’t so extravagant, he told him; they did, after all, subsist on donations, and much of that went to keeping up facilities for pilgrims, maintaining the grounds. He confessed to being at least in part the con man Baze accused him of being, but only, he insisted, on rare occasions. He’d pocketed a portion of the alms from the day they’d first met; that was how he’d bought the scarf, but he took rarely, and only in situations like that fight, where he felt he’d done a job himself. Baze would still tease him for being a scammer, but even in picking on him his tone began to reflect the regained respect, and for some reason he was certain Chirrut could hear it. He knew, too, Chirrut could hear his envy when he asked him about the Temple. He hadn’t meant to become so enamored with it. In fact he’d lived most of his life looking at the structure with a sort of vague resentment as he imagined the hoarded crystalline wealth within, monks in soft beds shielded from the wind while he spent so many nights without either. Chirrut’s tales, though, made him somehow less bitter. Perhaps, Baze mused, it was from having a face, a name to put to one of those monks, safe and warm. It irked him, still, the inequality, the symbol looming so large, but he found himself grateful, too, that Chirrut lived better than he did.

He knew full well the boy was no slouch, of course. He’d seen him fight. But he wasn’t terribly streetwise; his fascination with Baze’s life was proof enough of that. Baze was certain he’d tire of sitting with him for a few days after seeing the dullness of it in reality; streetfights were uncommon and not half as exciting as the monk wanted them to be. And then there was the realization that he had been something of a tourist as Baze had said.

“I didn’t mean to,” was his refrain often, but after a few weeks, he seemed to understand that it wasn’t the meaning that concerned Baze.

The first real strike of disillusionment came a month into their friendship, with the discovery that Baze was not free, not his own boss in contrast to a life under ranked Guardians and Masters. Baze’s life had its own hierarchies, and they were in fact even less pleasant that the Temple’s. Baze glanced to him nervously. Chirrut had not encountered Baze’s boss, and as he watched blue eyes narrow suspiciously as the Zabrak made his usual glowering, stomping approach, Baze found himself gripped by an unusual sense of dread. Not that one of Lok’s visits was ever a _good_ thing, but for all Chirrut’s prowess in ending a fight, he had very little faith that the monk had enough sense not to start one. Baze was well aware that Lok was tied up into some illegal enterprise he was better off not knowing about, but it didn’t occur to him until the man was storming towards him that having a Guardian of the Whills – or the junior version – seated behind his stand might mean something to him. He was only a tiny cog in whatever machine Lok was involved in on Jedha and a half-dozen other backwater outposts, but that didn’t mean he was absolved from potentially being made an example of. He drew a long breath and snatched up his datapad with readouts of the month’s sales, trying to ignore the sound of Chirrut shifting his staff in his hands.

“Lok. Good to—”

“Inventory is cut off,” he snapped without so much as an acknowledgment, taking the tablet with a scowl. “You better unload the rest of this.”

It took Baze a stunned second to process the words, and it distracted him enough to miss Chirrut’s quiet approach to his side. “Cut – cut off? _Off_ off? For how long?”

“For good. You’re going out of business. This one, anyway.” He tapped a clawed finger on the screen in agitation. “This isn’t going to do it, either. You can add thirty percent to the total.”

“Thirty – I can’t do that. That’s twice what we agreed on. I can go to twenty-two, but—”

“And your totals are shit. Thirty.”

“A man who goes back on his word is no man at all.” Chirrut’s honey-warm voice lilted much too close to Baze’s ear, startling him a step away. “Do you think yourself a businessman? What’s your trade? Robbing people?”

“Shut up,” Baze whispered firmly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who is he? What is he doing here?” Lok narrowed his eyes. “A Temple boy?”

“He’s...” Baze sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Helping me out.”

“Watch your tongue, Temple boy, or I’ll cut it out.” His sickly yellow-green eyes flicker back to Baze. “And you, Malbus, should watch who you associate with if you want to stay gainfully employed.”

“ _Gainfully_!” Chirrut barked a laugh, and Baze finally shifted to forcibly push him back a step. He seemed almost not to notice. “Is that what you call terrorizing and robbing the people doing your work for you?!”

“Terror, eh?” Lok chuckled – or, made some equivalent raspy sound that made Baze’s skin crawl – and handed the datapad back. “Those ones can smell fear, you know, Malbus. You should train him not to give up your weaknesses. Now, speaking of giving up...” Baze only grunted, blocking a stunned-silent Chirrut from doing anything even more rash than he already had, and handed over damn near every credit he had. “A wise boy. More than this one anyway.” He nodded toward Chirrut. “Clean out the rest of this in three weeks, and I’ll bring you something new.”

“And if I can’t get rid of it?”

Lok shrugged and pulled his lips back into what Baze could only hope was a smile. “Then we’ll have to find another way for you to pay.”

Baze had to grab Chirrut with both arms to keep him from charging off after the man as he turned to leave.

“Don’t,” he mumbled. “Please, don’t. I know it looks bad, but I need him for now. You understand that, right?”

Chirrut wriggled out of his grasp in agitation but only to stomp back to where he’d been sitting, frowning petulantly. “How can you let him talk to you like that? And he took twice what he said he would from you? Do you even have credits left to eat tonight?!”

“Because he’s all I have right now, Chirrut. There aren’t a lot of job opportunities springing up on a dust ball moon where people only come to pray or to die.” He rubbed his eyes again and sat at Chirrut’s side, willing himself to be angry with him. Lacking any recent memory of someone defending him that way, though, rather softened his fury. “In the Temple – you all have a purpose, right? You have a sort of family, and you all work toward it together. Right?”

“I guess so.”

“We look out for each other here,” he started to lift a hand to gesture but catches himself. “The vendors, I mean. But we all have to look after ourselves. Sometimes the only way to do that is to tie yourself to someone with a better vantage point. I know you can probably – sense? Or feel? – that he’s no good. But I know that too. I just don’t have a choice right now.”

Chirrut fell silent a long time. Baze didn’t let his gaze drop away, though, watching him curiously, admiring the soft fan of his lashes as he closes his eyes, the slight pout of his lips as he searches for words. He was beautiful, Baze thought, though the idea came and went rapidly, for now brief enough to be passed off as a fleeting daydream. “Baze,” he finally began, eyes still closed. “Do you live close?”

“I rent a room nearby sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” It wasn’t quite a question, but he seemed to test the word out, hoping to get a better look at it.

“It’s by the week,” Baze explained, the tips of his ears going red. “Sometimes I have enough and sometimes I don’t.”

He flinched as if he’d been bracing for this answer. “I’m sorry, Baze,” he said after a moment. “For being a tourist.”

Baze soaked in the words, eyes drifting from Chirrut’s face to his hand, curled just above his wrist. He smiled. “I’m sorry it hasn’t been a more exciting tour.”

He laughed softly, fingers squeezing around Baze’s arm. “You’re a good man, Baze. I hope you know that.”

Baze quirked an eyebrow, doing his best to laugh off just how touched he was by the sentiment. “Sure, a good man working for who-knows-what kind of organization, selling whatever someone puts in front of me.”

Chirrut leaned in closer, and Baze’s chest constricted painfully as he wrapped both arms around Baze’s and leaned on his shoulder. “Exactly that.”

Baze leaned into him for a second or two, as long as he could let himself, memorizing the warmth of him nestled at his side. “Thank you, Chirrut,” he whispered. “For standing up for me. Even if you’re a complete maniac who’s lucky he didn’t catch a handful of Zabrak claws in his face.”

Chirrut beamed as he drew back from him. “I would have spit them back at him and kicked his ass.”

“You know, I sort of believe you.” He shook his head with a laugh. “You’re a strange monk. Acolyte.”

“How would you know? I’m the only one you’ve talked to this much. Maybe at all.”

“That’s true,” Baze laughed. “I guess I didn’t think of it like that.”

“You’re right though.” Another playful smile, almost wistful, crossed his face. “You’ll never meet someone like me again, so you better remember me.”

Baze gave him a gentle shove. “You’re awfully cocky for someone who’s supposed to be living in service to a higher power.”

“The Force is with me,” he assured, only looking more confident with this assessment. “And I am one with the Force.”

“What about me?” He meant it teasingly, but Chirrut nudged his shoulder with the end of his staff and smiled more cheerfully still.

“You...” His voice took on that contemplative tone again, and he tilted his head, searching for words. “The Force moves so brightly around you.”

Baze could only wait for the punchline, but none came, and he found himself caught up uncomfortably in the sentimentality of the words. “You believe so deeply,” he murmured. “It must be comforting.”

“It’s not blind faith, if you’ll pardon the unfortunate pun.” Another little nudge, and another, harder, until Baze couldn’t help but laugh. Satisfied, he went on. “The Force is as alive and you or I. Whether you feel its presence or not, it is with you. And when I am with you, I feel it as strongly as in the heart of the Temple. You shine like kyber.”

“I never really learned about any of that. With my father it was always – _when you’re older_ , and then...” He trailed off, looking over at Chirrut in wonder for more reasons than he cared to entertain. “It’s getting late. Don’t you need to head back?”

“Ah...” He frowned, leaning forward on his staff before reluctantly pulling himself to his feet. “I suppose I do.” He paused, chewing his lower lip. “But...Baze? Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Baze swallowed down the urge to complain about his asking. Being cared for was uncomfortable, still, but at least he knew Chirrut was sincere in his concern. “Three more nights,” he answered honestly. “Then it might be tricky.”

Chirrut nodded, apparently holding back words of his own. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Baze.” He paused in anticipation of a snide comment that didn’t come. “May the Force be with you.”

  


Baze could not exorcise the thought of Chirrut from his mind, asleep or awake, for the entirety of those three nights. The distinct sense memory of the other pressed to his side, not merely worried for him but willing to fight for him, too, stuck in his thoughts. Dreams echoed with his warm voice, chirping happily, joking, laughing, drifting to a peaceful hum as he spoke of his home and his faith. It was easy to imagine him curled up next to him, holding onto his arm that same way, murmuring about the Force, the Temple, the tree in the garden he fell out of when he was a child. The dreams became vivid, painfully so, and on the third day he awoke in tears at the simple fact that none of it was real.

But Chirrut was there during the day, at least, even if it was harder to look at him after a night of him occupying his thoughts, his senses. He’d drawn closer to him these last days, too, and Baze had yet to decide if it made things better or worse. Accidentally standing by for a look at the more unpleasant parts of his life had inspired Chirrut to chip at his defenses all the more, to softly ask questions between customers, in that gentle, impossible-to-deny way that had Baze so mixed up over him in the first place. Again, he tried to make it into something nefarious: Chirrut looking at him as a charity case at best, Chirrut waiting to mock him if he revealed more of himself. None of it would stick, of course, not when the other had taken to asking so carefully, never prying beyond what Baze was willing to offer. There was, though, the thought that he was destined to ruin it all _himself_ , a far more believable tale. _If he knew how you dreamed of him, if he knew how you wished for him to whisper, to touch you—_

“Baze?” Chirrut’s voice snapped him back from the thought and further into it all at once. “We should put the rest of these out. You only have three weeks to sell it all, right?”

Baze rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was fighting tiredness, or tears, or both. “It won’t even matter,” he said, hopelessness pulling the words down heavily. “Even if I can sell it all by then he’s just going to—” Baze stopped himself with a deep breath, grabbing for the cloaks Chirrut had started to unfold.

“Oh, Baze,” he whispered faintly. “He takes advantage of you. You don’t have to hold it back.”

He forced a smile to his face, certain it looked deranged, but then, it wouldn't make any difference to Chirrut. “And that doesn’t matter either, so why should I stand here shouting about it? You’re right.” He began displaying the garments – even cheaper looking than usual, destined not to sell at full price – muttering half to himself, half to Chirrut. “He’ll rob me blind no matter what, so why not look busy?”

Chirrut opened his mouth to say something, anything, but words don’t make it out until his third try. “It seems as though something else is on your mind,” he ventured, and Baze had to bite back the terrible truth that nothing was on his mind more than Chirrut himself.

“It’s been a difficult few days,” he admitted instead – the truth, merely a softened version thereof. “With Lok turning up like that, and the rent running low, and...” He looked back at Chirrut, startled to see his usually serene features twisted with sorrow. “What is it?” He would have liked to sound less _panicked_ , but he’d learned already that his reactions to Chirrut verged on unpredictable. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared for you,” he blurted, and Baze was dumbstruck, not for the first time, by his easy honesty. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?”

“Here. Don’t worry so much.” He hoped to sound stern, but Chirrut’s look of horror at the answer wreaked havoc with his resolve. “It’s not the first time. I’ll be all right.”

“You could get robbed, or worse.”

“Well – that wouldn’t be the first time either.”

“Or you just won’t sleep, and you already sound so _tired_ sometimes...” Tears welled in his eyes, and Baze threw a cursory glance over his shoulder for onlookers before moving closer to him against his better judgment.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded, fidgeting awkwardly as he stood in Chirrut’s space without daring yet to make contact. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” He nudged him just a little, playfully, but somehow his hand decided to linger on Chirrut’s arm, to slide down it too luxuriantly and curl around his slim wrist. Baze watched it in horror as if from some distance outside of his own body. “The Force will protect me, right?”

Chirrut tilted his head at this, blinking away droplets that ran down his cheeks. Baze nearly sighed in relief when Chirrut reached up to wipe them away himself before his own treacherous hands could do it for him. “The Force will protect you,” he repeated, slowly, giving Baze enough (or too much) time to feel out the soft curl of his accent against the words. “Yes. All is as the Force wills, and certainly it wills that you are safe.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” This seemed to satisfy him for the moment, though Baze was certain the monk stuck more closely at his side for the rest of the day. And it was a long day, for better or worse. There was, at least, the indescribable pleasure of watching Chirrut attempt to charm a woman into buying a hideously garish jacket, insisting with ever greater conviction that she looked beautiful in it, that it was made for her, that her life would be forever changed with the addition of this horrible, overpriced scrap of fabric. Baze struggled to laugh silently into his palm but lost control altogether when the customer realized that the string of flowery compliments was coming from a blind man, and reacted with utter fury.

“I would have still sold it,” Chirrut insisted with a scowl. “If you hadn’t sat back there howling.”

“Do you have any idea how ugly that thing was?”

“The coat or the customer?”

Their joint laughter echoed noisily throughout the marketplace.

  


As the bleak, cold brightness of the day began to fade into rosy twilight, Baze felt anxiety grip him again. Sleeping in the market was a slightly riskier prospect than he’d let on to Chirrut. Being robbed now, with Lok’s reptilian eyes gazing hungrily over his shoulder, might not be so far off from being murdered outright, and even his presence would make him a target. He’d have to stay awake, surely – but for how long? It was a losing game no matter what. He looked to Chirrut, hoping the other hadn’t picked up on his worries.

Chirrut looked positively serene, knelt by Baze’s case, hands folded in his lap. His eyes were closed and he murmured under his breath; Baze began to ask him what he was saying when he _realized_ , and fell into embarrassed silence. Chirrut was praying. He’d never seen him do so before, and he was struck by the beautiful simplicity of it: no altar, no candles, no Temple, just Chirrut and his Force, praying for Baze’s safety. Then, just as curiously, he rose again and took his usual seat at Baze’s side.

“I’ll be staying,” he announced, leaving no room for argument.

“You absolutely will not,” Baze growled. “It’s bad enough you stayed this late. It’s not safe. And anyway, isn’t someone going to be looking for you?”

“Has anyone been looking for me so far?” He snorted. “I’m a con man monk, remember? A little lying and sneaking is nothing to me.”

“I thought you were an Acolyte.”

“Don’t try to make me laugh while I’m being stubborn with you.” He pouted – _actually_ pouted. Baze could have walked off and left him there. “The Force wills that you are safe. Sleeping alone here isn’t safe. Not sleeping isn’t safe either. Therefore...the Force wills that I stay with you.”

Baze blanched at the thought that he might dream of Chirrut with the other sitting guard over him an arm’s length away. “Chirrut, you _can’t_.”

“I’m taking first watch, too, so you can’t try to stay awake to spite me. If you don’t sleep, then I won’t sleep, and then we’ll both be in more danger.”

“Truly a con man.”

“No, no,” he insisted, though his smile was telling. “This is the will of the Force.”

“Just how often is the will of the Force the same as the will of a hardheaded monk?”

Chirrut laughed loudly, rubbing Baze’s nose in his complete inability to say no to him. “The Force requires a steady hand to assist in carrying out its will. Those hands are naturally often attached to the... _willful_.”

“Once you promised not to bother me, do you remember that?”

“It feels like a long time ago, doesn’t it, my friend?”

Baze could only smile. “It does.”

  


Nightfall saw Chirrut perched atop Baze’s trunk, now filled with what hadn’t been sold, leaning on his staff. Baze thought more than once about kicking it out from under him just to test his reflexes, but recalling the way the other had toyed with his three assailants the first time he’d met him drained away his confidence for teasing him but so much. Besides, if he let his mind wander just a step or two away from safety, he began to see the night sky turn his pale eyes darker blue, the torchlight dancing over his cheeks, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he drew in the cold air. He shivered, and Baze looked guiltily at the blanket he’d rolled out for himself, a thin, fraying thing he’d had too long, but better than nothing.

“Chirrut,” he called to him. “Take this.”

The monk moved towards him and Baze was briefly shocked it had been so easy, until he realized what Chirrut was doing. He reached for his hand, yes, but only to see what he was being offered. “There was only one blanket in the case,” he said. “You can’t fool me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you, I’m trying to give it to you.”

“Go to sleep.” He batted his hand away indelicately. “I’ll wake you up in three hours to switch.”

“Chirrut, it’s _cold_.”

“Guardians of the Whills train for these conditions,” he answered obtusely, and of course, Baze had not a clue whether that was true – but it felt very annoying, in any case. Exhaustion, though, did not only come in the form of Chirrut’s quick retorts, and his eyelids grew heavy against his will. Perhaps the will of the Force bearing down on him, Baze thought tiredly. He curled under the blanket, resting his head on his arm, and took another look at Chirrut. He was tired enough, weak enough, to let the word _handsome_ dance across his consciousness, tracing the curve of Chirrut’s jaw with his eyes. Brave, and strong, and so _good to him_ when no one else was. Curled up next to him he would be warm, his skin so soft, smelling of temple incense—

Baze blinked, filled with the terrible dread of having no idea how long his eyes had been closed. He had dreamed – hadn’t he? The sensory impressions were fading fast, and he had only a second to wonder why he thought he knew what temple incense smelled like before the answer literally hit him in the face. He grunted in pain as he was struck in the nose, and was on the move trying to disorientedly scramble to his feet before he realized what had happened.

“Baze,” Chirrut’s voice came so calm and even that he was embarrassed to feel his heart hammering against his ribs in terror, humiliated doubly when Chirrut rests his palm there where it threatened to leap from his chest. “Baze, it’s alright, lie back down… Oh, I’m sorry, Baze...”

Baze blinked, focusing his eyes on Chirrut at last as he lowered himself back to the ground, shaking violently. “What – I thought we were being attacked—”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible before, but Chirrut’s face grows red. “I got cold so I stuck my legs under your blanket,” he confessed, chagrined. “I think I kneed you in the nose.”

“Idiot,” he groaned, flopping back fully to the ground. “You scared the life out of me. My chest hurts.”

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered and – _oh_ – rubbed a hand soothingly over his back. “It’s so quiet, Baze. There’s no one here but you and me. And I’m going to watch out for you.”

“How long have I been asleep? We should trade off—”

“Not yet, not yet,” he sing-songed, hands trailing across his shoulder blades. “Oh,” he cooed with wonder, sounding distinctly sleepy himself. “Your hair is long.” He followed the ends all the way to the back of Baze’s head. He let him – he’d blame tiredness, or the adrenaline rush, or anything other than his desperate want to be touched, but he let him go on raking slim fingers through his hair. “You know, I don’t really know what you look like.”

“Didn’t you just tell me to go back to sleep?” Baze was tired, but felt suddenly, terribly over-alert as Chirrut knelt next to him.

“Can I feel your face?” He asked, as good an answer to the question as any. “Just to get an idea of how you look?”

Baze propped himself up on his elbows, drawing closer to Chirrut as he leaned over him. “Oh – if you want to,” he whispered, eyes locked on Chirrut’s full lips curving into a pleased smile. He let them flutter shut, though, as Chirrut’s fingertips traced his chin, his soft jawline. He cupped his face in his palms, and Baze was struck by their roughness; it shouldn’t come as a surprise, he knew, having seen how the other wielded his staff. He knew, too, that he trained rigorously in the martial art of his order – perhaps it was this passing thought that led him to lay an unusually bold hand on Chirrut’s bicep as he mapped his face. He didn’t seem to mind, anyway, too enthralled in learning Baze’s expression.

“You feel so soft,” Chirrut whispered, though even the breathiest words felt thunderous in the silence of the night. He trailed a finger down his nose playfully, giving it a little tap. “I’m no expert, but I think you must be quite attractive.”

Baze laughed, even as a thumb slipping across his lower lip threatened to send him spiraling into some mix of joyous thoughts and harsh self-reprimands for the same. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I hear how some of those women talk to you.” He rubbed both of Baze’s temples gently, still so, so close. “But you feel handsome to me, too.”

“That can’t mean anything to you,” he insisted, relaxing back into almost-sleep as Chirrut slid his hands into his hair, massaging his scalp.

“It might not mean the same things as when you say it.” He pursed his lips – serious and teasing, offended and laughing. Impossible to read. “But it’s rude to think I can’t find someone physically attractive.”

“Didn’t mean it,” he muttered. More argument was beyond his capacity for thought.

Chirrut huffed softly. “Didn’t mean what?”

“Any – any of it.”

“You’re half asleep. It’s kind of cute.”

“You told me to go back to sleep, after you _kicked me in the face_ —”

“I barely bumped you. I have never met someone so _dramatic_.”

“When I met you, you were toying with purse snatchers like a loth cat playing with its meal.” He snorted. “There is no one more dramatic than you.”

“That’s just _style_.” He shifted, and as Baze laid back Chirrut cradled his head in his lap. “Comfortable?”

Baze grunted unintelligibly.

“I was little when I lost my eyes,” he began, unprompted – not that it ever stopped him – hands still stroking Baze’s hair. “Just about the only thing I think I really remember is light. Warm sunlight. That’s what the Force is like.”

Baze opened his eyes. Chirrut seemed to look down at him, almost, crystal blue eyes just off-center.

“Warm sunlight that shines on everything, but moves like water or wind,” he went on, pausing only to feel out the shell of one of Baze’s ears. He pretended not to notice. “It is the life force of all creatures. Some come to control it. I used to envy them – the Jedi. I was always told I had a gift in my connection with the Force, so I thought someday they’d come for me, whisk me away on an adventure.”

“Do you still wish for that life?”

“Some of it, maybe. The adventure. The chance to defend those who cannot defend themselves.” One hand escaped Baze’s long mane to trace across his eyebrows instead. “The Guardians are not inferior to the Jedi. We have different gifts. We are moved by the Force rather than the other way around. I think it is a great gift, really,” he mused. “Being handed destiny.”

“Could be a bit restrictive, I’d imagine.”

“Sometimes. But the Jedi have worse rules.” Chirrut tilted his head thoughtfully. “They move the Force but they are moved by politics”

“Everyone is moved by politics.”

Chirrut seemed to think this over, twirling a strand of Baze’s hair about his finger. “You’re right about that,” he conceded. “Not everyone starts the speeder then dives out of the driver’s seat, though.”

Baze chuckled. “I thought you were going to come back with a more mystical aphorism.”

“Aphorisms are only as good as they are intelligible,” he laughed, the hand free of his hair now draped over his shoulder, fingers drumming lightly on his chest. “You’d be such a joy at the temple,” he mused. “A sharp mind like yours.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” he said, one hand coming to rest over Chirrut’s. “Sharp is not one of them.”

“Nonsense,” Chirrut scoffed. “Believe it or not, I don’t always talk this much. I talk to you because it is stimulating. You think quickly and you say what you mean.”

“A Master of the temple gave me one of your texts once,” he sighed. “I couldn’t even read it.”

“Oh?” This did give him a moment’s hesitation, but Baze found himself more relieved at the honesty of the reaction than embarrassed at his admission. “Well, it’s not essential. You don’t think I’ve been squinting at scrolls helplessly for seventeen years, do you? I have a screen reader.”

“I can’t believe that didn’t actually occur to me,” Baze laughed.

“The important thing is to feel the guidance of the Force.” Chirrut at last caught up to his original point, his rapid thoughts seeming to slip from his grasp at every turn. “To let that light wash over you and let it carry you. To trust its will.”

“And you believe it led you to watch over me tonight.”

“I do.” He nodded. “Sincerely. There are those who believe for the sake of announcing that they have faith – but I think you know I am not such a person.”

“What is the Force’s will for me, then?”

“I’m tempted to tell you it says _go back to sleep_ , but I’m afraid it’s never so direct.” He cupped Baze’s face in both hands again. “You must find your own path.” He brushed the pad of his thumb along the seam of his lips once more. “But I feel that mine runs close to you.”

He drifted back to sleep on this almost-kiss and woke with his head still tilted comfortably against Chirrut an indeterminate amount of time later. “Chirrut,” he murmured, before thinking of anything at all, giving rise to a deep-gut worry that it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

“Good morning,” Chirrut mumbled in response, a hand dropping down across Baze’s chest groggily. That was when Baze noted he was no longer leaning in his lap, but curled against Chirrut’s chest, and he jerked back from the too-intimate pose instinctively. “Ah, don’t run off,” he complained, blinking sleepily. “You’re so warm.”

“You fell asleep and didn’t wake me?” He shouted – tried to shout, though his still-groggy voice cracked and couldn’t quite live up to his fervor. “Is everything still here?”

“I waited until the lady next door came,” he explained around a yawn. “I told her to bang on a pot if she saw anyone coming up to us before we were awake.”

“You – why would – you’re such a _fool_.” The words came out all fondness and no heat, and Baze couldn’t even begin to put a name to the mingled fear and anger and _adoration_ that Chirrut’s petulant smile brought bubbling up in his heart.

“I’m a light sleeper anyway. We were safe.” He stood and stretched languidly. “Well? Come on, Malbus, we have a shop to run.”

Baze grabbed him around the legs and sent him tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and shrieking laughter. “You monstrous brat,” he groaned with absolutely no malice as Chirrut expertly ducked and writhed from his grasp. Before he knew it Chirrut’s staff was jabbed squarely to his chest, and he couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh. “Are you going to beat me, vicious monk?”

“No.” He tapped him slightly less than gently, though, still grinning foolishly. “You’d complain if I got blood on your ugly clothes.”

“I would.” He took the hand Chirrut extended toward him with the sort of thoughtless trust he had thought he couldn’t possess. “But you need to get home. You won’t get away with staying out for days at a time even if they’re used to your antics.”

Chirrut pouted, but knowing resignation colored the expression. “I don’t want to go,” he groused, kicking dust with one flat-soled boot. “I won’t be able to come back tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. They’ll figure it out, and move my patrol duty. They won’t be pleased I’ve been here so much.”

“I’ll be all right,” Baze assured, starting to display his wares. “I’ll have to yell twice as loudly at customers, but I’ll be all right.”

“You’ll be fine, always just fine without me.” He smiled crookedly, reaching out, brushing his fingertips over the inside of Baze’s wrist in some gesture Baze didn’t know how to translate. “I’ll miss you, though, Baze.”

“I’ll m—”

“I’ll see you again when I can,” he interrupted quickly before gathering up his staff and turning to go. “If it’s more than a week,” he added over his shoulder – loudly, halfway into the square, much to Baze’s chagrin – “Come and find me.”

  


Chirrut came three days later, teary eyed from their first greeting, and stayed only long enough to give Baze’s hand a squeeze, make him swear that he was safe. So it went for some time – brief meetings, a day or two apart at most. Baze gave up on resisting Chirrut’s worried words (and the occasional meal). He leaned down each time he approached so Chirrut could appraise his face, feel out stress or hunger he didn’t want to admit to in his cheekbones or the set of his jaw. Two weeks into this new and decidedly unsatisfactory routine, Chirrut came in the middle of the night. Baze was wide awake and wild-eyed, and for the first time in recent memory, not happy to see the monk. He shouldn’t see him like this – _feel_ him like this. And Baze could tell before he even made his way around to sit next to him that Chirrut knew something was not right.

“You’re so tired, Baze,” he murmured, deep worry tugging at the trembling corners of his lips. “Please,” he begged, finally, his voice breaking. “Please come with me. Even if it’s only for tonight.”

“I am not looking for charity.”

“Not charity,” Chirrut sighed. “Friendship, Baze. The Temple takes in pilgrims all the time; you’d be welcomed.”

“I can’t,” he insisted with a shake of his head, even as he let Chirrut draw him into a hug. He could feel Chirrut’s hands worriedly finding bruises, minute swelling in the topography of his body that Chirrut somehow knew to be out of place. “I can’t _owe_ you.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” He combed his fingers through Baze’s hair. “That I’ll want something in return?”

“Everyone does. Maybe not right away, maybe you don’t even know it—”

“What is it I owe you, then, Baze? For caring for me? Am I sufficiently paying you back for your friendship in steamed buns from the Temple kitchen or am I in more debt than I know?” Baze knew it was meant facetiously, but he still ached guiltily at his question. “What is it you want from me?”

 _This_ , was the answer that leaped to his mind. Chirrut in his arms, offering what he couldn’t ask for. The same thing that haunted his thoughts until he could hardly look at Chirrut during waking hours for fear he’d somehow know what he had done to him in his dreams. What he’d bitten back as Chirrut stroked his face and whispered to him about his faith, the fearful thing that had drawn him close against Chirrut’s chest while he slept. Attraction and affection bundled up too closely together until they became poison.

“Nothing,” he murmured instead. “I don’t want anything from you. Go. You’ll get in trouble.”

“You haven’t slept well in days, I can feel it.” He brushed a finger over Baze’s face where a bruise bloomed ugly purple-gray around his eye socket. “Did you get in a fight?”

“Chirrut, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Did Lok send someone after you? What’s going to happen when he comes back?” He drew away and Baze could hear him rummaging around in his case but didn’t bother to look. “Are you going to be able to pay him?” Baze sniffled and held back an answer in the futile hope that his tears would be restrained along with it. He didn’t realize his own failure until Chirrut swiped at his cheek gently with his sleeve. “Baze? Tell me.”

“The winds were so bad,” he whimpered after a moment. “I was so cold...”

“You rented the room?”

He laughed bitterly. “I would have. Ran into some trouble on the way there.”

“You were robbed?”

“Must have been ten thugs, right there around the corner from the inn. It’s like they were waiting for me.”

“It certainly is.” Chirrut frowned deeply. “There’s still so much here...”

“I wonder if they were merchants. The sandstorm was kicking up, and it was dark – I didn’t get a great look. But they seemed to know this wasn’t worth the effort.” He patted his case. “They took everything else, though. Which wasn’t much but – it was everything.” He fell silent. “If I’d just gone with you before...”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “There is no sense blaming anyone but the ones who did this to you.” He touched his cheek again, tenderly, with wind-bitten fingertips this time. “Will you come back with me tonight? To the Temple? There’s – Force, Baze, you have nothing to lose, do you?”

“I have to face Lok when he comes. I have to honor my debts or I’m no better than him.”

“He’s not coming tomorrow, is he?” He bit his lower lip, his thumb stroking Baze’s cheek, feeling the short shake of his head. Not tomorrow, but the day after – too soon for whatever foolish thing Chirrut would suggest, anyway. “Come eat regular meals for a day. Sleep in a warm bed.” He forced a faint smile though his voice broke painfully. “Stay with me for a little while, before you go off and do something stupid and honorable.”

Baze closed his eyes and leaned into his hand. “I’ll go,” he agreed after a moment. “Thank you, Chirrut.”

  


Baze left everything behind. All he had to his name was what he owed to Lok anyway – there was no sense hauling it along. He took nothing but Chirrut’s hand, given with a smile, laughing faintly when he began swinging them back and forth between them with forced but oddly welcomed levity. “What do you think he’ll do?” He asked quietly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t think he’ll kill me, if that’s what you mean.”

“That...was what I meant,” he admitted. “He said he’ll make you pay.”

“He knows he has me on the hook. It would waste his time to find another underling, so I don’t think he’ll hurt me, really.” He looked over at him; he did mean what he said, but, just in case, he took a long moment to soak in the sight of him in the dim lights of the marketplace. “He’ll probably have some unpleasant work for me, with no pay for a while. Something he’s supposed to be doing himself. Not so different from now.”

“A brave idiot,” he sighed fondly. “If he does hurt you, I’ll hunt him down.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“I mean it.” Chirrut frowned. “I’m not just going to let you go.”

Despite everything, it brought a smile to his face. “I feel like I’ve known you a long time, Chirrut,” he mused. “You’re a good friend.”

He hummed softly but didn’t quite answer as they wound their way through the city. Baze closed his eyes, relishing the thought of his blind companion leading the way for a moment. He thought of the will of the Force that his friend spoke of so reverently, wondering if indeed the wind at their back might have intent, might have been nudging them in the direction of destiny. He pondered, too, if whatever retribution he would receive from Lok was the doing of a greater power. Did that mean he deserved it? Just that he couldn’t avoid it? He nearly crashed into Chirrut when the other paused, and he realized they’d come to the Holy Quarter, the Temple of the Whills looming ahead.

“Baze Malbus,” he recited slowly, leaning against his side slightly. “I want to remember standing here with you.”

“Mm? We’ll come here again,” he reassured. “Don’t make it sound like we’re marching off to war.”

“No – not because it’s the last time. Because it’s the first time.”

“You’re sure I’ll be coming straight back here?”

“I never said that...” He curled his arm around Baze’s. Baze still wasn’t entirely certain he believed in the Force – or even understood it – but when Chirrut drew nearer he could swear he felt his worry for him, his hope, his affection. “But I told you what I feel. My path does not diverge from yours yet.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You’ll stay with me for what’s left of tonight,” he announced as they pad through the eerie quiet of the Holy Quarter at the late hour. “I’ll throw my roommate out, if he’s there.”

Baze blinked, rolling the statement around his skull. If there was more to be gleaned from it, Chirrut wasn’t giving away any indicators. “And then?”

“And then I’ll show you what will be be waiting for you when you get things settled,” he replied with forced certainty, tossing another cheeky smile at Baze as they come closer to the temple gates. “Your home.”

“And if things never settle?”

“Then I start cracking skulls until it’s settled.”

Baze laughed too loudly at that, reaching over to ruffle his hair fondly. “My defender.” He followed Chirrut closely as they start into the temple grounds, looking around in wonder. He struggled to remember his journey here a decade ago. The structure itself was _enormous_ , and the shivery feeling of awe that crawled up his spine as he stood in its shadow echoed the feeling of that visit, at least, the sense of being extremely small in more ways than one. He contemplated the pavers beneath his feet; the closer they came to the temple, the more he began to notice green moss in the cracks in the stones, as if the holy place literally gave off life that the rest of Jedha lacked. Chirrut leaned over to whisper terribly close to his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

“We have to be quiet. We won’t get in trouble, really, but—” He smiled cheekily. “I don’t want to waste time talking to anyone who isn’t you.”

Baze felt his face flush. The stone steps were familiar, vaguely; there appeared to be a garden to the left, rustling in the wind, subsumed by darkness. There were guard towers, but they weren’t stopped – either no one was there, or whoever was there was well used to Chirrut coming and going at odd hours accompanied by strangers. The temple was beautiful, all carved stone glowing in torchlight, and almost frighteningly silent. Baze’s eyes rarely strayed from Chirrut, though, as they made their way through the large main chambers in the front of the temple toward winding halls beyond. Chirrut reached back and took his hand, unconcerned with the sudden darkness. Stumbling through the hallways, he was struck again with wonder at the entire situation – this boy, this strange monk who could knock someone out one second then drop to his knees in prayer the next, was hanging on to his hand, bringing him into his life so willingly. Baze had dreams, flights of fancy, from time to time: running away from Jedha, seeing oceans and forests, finding his passions without the burden of scraping for survival holding him back and chasing them across the galaxy. He had never dreamed of this. A (mostly) selfless friend scooping him up, whisking him off to – well, not quite adventure, but at least a sort of carefree happiness he wasn’t aware he could experience – was too far out of the realm of possibility, or so he’d thought. To say nothing of he way he bought a blush to his cheeks, constantly sneaked into his dreams, made his heart flutter just by leaning on his shoulder…

“Wait here a second.” Chirrut broke in to his thoughts sharply, and just as abruptly disappeared into one of the many doors in the hallway. “Adel isn’t here,” he confirmed with a silly grin. “Must be hiding out with whoever he’s seeing these days. Come, you need to rest.” Baze’s breath caught in his throat as Chirrut pulled him inside and fumbled around a moment for the switch to a dim panel light. “I don’t use the light much,” he explained with a laugh. “The bed isn’t much, but—”

“But it’s a bed,” Baze finished with a laugh, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was. Chirrut seemed to sense it all over again, too, and stepped closer to him.

“Tomorrow we’ll get you a shower, and some clothes...” The words tied a self-conscious knot in Baze’s stomach, but if he was as dirty as he feared then Chirrut doesn’t seem to care. He hugged him close, as if feeling the anxiety rippling from him. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Baze,” he whispered. “Go on, lie down and get some sleep. You’re safe here, Baze. Don’t worry about anything but resting.”

Baze froze, unable to do anything but will his heart to stop pounding. “You...” Forcing his attention back to forming words and off of slowly, methodically soaking in the feeling of Chirrut pressed close, the scent of him, proved difficult. “You really don’t mind?” He knew it was an absurd question by now, and he laughed faintly, finally lifting a hand to press between his shoulder blades and return the hug. “Why are you so good to me?”

“I care about you, Baze. You must know that.”

Baze didn’t answer, just gave him another tired squeeze and moved to sit on the edge of his bed; it was low and narrow and not so unlike the one in his rented quarters, but appointed with thicker blankets, warm and soft and inviting. He hardly realized he was moving before his exhausted body somehow stretched out beneath the sheets, head drooping onto a pillow that smelled like Chirrut. And then he was _there_ , close to him, intriguing enough that Baze forced his heavy eyelids open again to look at him. He was already well on his way to sleep, and Baze felt a pang of guilt. The other had done so much for him, for nothing in return at all except his friendship. He hadn’t even asked what had brought Chirrut out to him in the middle of the night, but he’d been there, exactly when Baze needed him most. Baze squeezed his eyes shut against sudden tears, overwhelmed by the confusingly mingled feelings of affection and remorse.

“It’s okay, Baze.” Chirrut’s voice drifted to him softly, as did a quick brush of fingertips on his cheeks. “You’re safe. You can rest.”

  


He did – well into the morning, much to his chagrin. But even Chirrut, who had been so insistent on spending the day together, didn’t seem to mind. Baze woke peacefully, warm and comfortable, to the feeling of Chirrut’s fingers pulling slowly through his hair, and rolled over to see him seated with legs crossed beside him, a bright smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he greeted pleasantly, finding both of Baze’s ears beneath his long locks and tugging gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he answered simply, nuzzling sleepily into Chirrut palm.

“Ready for your first day at the temple?”

“There’s that certainty again. The first of many, is it?”

“You’ll want to stay. I know you will.” He leaned down to lie next to him again with a silly smile. Baze thought he might have a heart attack then and there. That was one way to get out of debt, he supposed. “You want to stay with me, don’t you?”

Baze laughed in spite of himself. Who said a thing like that? And with that silly, knowing grin, like he couldn’t be more sure of the answer. “You think yourself very charming, don’t you?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re all charm.” He did his best to sound disappointed though a smile just wouldn’t fade from his face, and he reached over to pinch Chirrut’s cheek playfully. “A real shame. No substance at all, just pretty words and a pretty face.”

“So you like my face too? I’m doing better than I thought.”

Baze’s face burned red, and he dragged himself to sit up with a sigh. “Where are you dragging me to today, charming monk?”

“Dragging,” Chirrut scoffs. “As if I’d have to. First thing’s first, a shower and a change of clothes. I got some robes from a friend who’s about your size.”

Baze tilted his head, almost unsure if Chirrut was kidding. “How can you tell my size?”

Chirrut laughed. “You’d think it would be hard, but you’re pretty easy to measure. The way you move, the way the air moves around you. Plus a few hugs and a night or two lying next to you and there you have it – an approximation.” He sat up, hopped to his feet. “I can’t tell everything, but I know you’re tall and you have broad shoulders and a soft face.” Before Baze could properly object, Chirrut was pressing a folded stack of grayish fabric into his arms. “All around very handsome. The ‘fresher is right next door.” He gestured to indicate out the door and to the right. “Then we’ll go get something to eat and I’ll show you around.”

It was the oddest feeling, waking up late, strolling into the day casually, with no obligations, even if the feeling was perilously temporary, even with the knowledge that this one day of running away from his responsibilities like a child could cost him dearly. He tried to recall the last time he’d had a _real_ shower, not a sonic, and a change of clothes that smelled so clean it almost brought tears to his eyes. When he met up with Chirrut again the other was dressed and waiting for him, bouncing on his heels excitedly.

“Feel better?” He asked. It was idiotic, Baze thought, to be so full of joy all the time. That did nothing to answer his recurring wonder as to why this boy, bubbling with happiness just to have him near, was so irresistible. Chirrut didn’t really wait for an answer, either, which was just as well since Baze had never had fewer, but barreled on, grabbing his hand. “We can get some of those steamed buns – like the ones I brought you – and bring them along. I have so much to show you.”

And so Baze found himself being led around by the blind youth, an irony not lost on either of them, taking slow, savoring bites of the offered food, still disbelieving the simplicity of it all. When, Baze wondered, was the catch going to come at last? When was the reveal of whatever Chirrut or his order or the universe really wanted in return for all of this? He followed him through the temple, past praying pilgrims, altars displaying relics, red-robed elders conferring in small floral clusters. None of this appeared to be significant by Chirrut’s reckoning, though, despite his passion for his faith, the way he’d seem to run over with excitement whenever Baze would give in and listen to him preach. These things were symbols of religion, perhaps, but Chirrut was targeting something more ethereal; he’d toss off the occasional note about these emblems and tokens on their whirlwind tour, but he didn’t come to a complete stop at all until they were back outside in a central courtyard before a gnarly, winding tree.

It had the scrubby look of the rare desert plant life Baze had seen before, but it was enormous, tall and thick-trunked, more so than Baze thought possible for such flora in the harsh Jedhan environment. Baze felt a deep hum both from within the tree and all around it, somehow, and extended a hand to rest against the rough bark before he’d realized what he was doing. Was it semi-sentient? Baze wondered. The tree, the creature, whatever it was, seemed to exude strength, the will to survive. It wrenched what it needed from the unforgiving soil of Jedha with what felt impossibly like _determination_ , somehow, and hung on to life. Baze had no idea how long he stood there, stupidly, fingertips against the wood, until Chirrut’s voice drifted through his thoughts and pulled him back to the present.

“You feel it,” he breathed, putting a hand over Baze’s. “Don’t you?”

“What is it?”

“The Force,” he answered. “The resonance of life.”

Baze shook his head. “I don’t have senses like you.”

“You don’t have to. You have your own.” Chirrut’s voice was gentle, hopeful. “It flourishes because the roots go down into a vein of kyber,” he explained, notching his fingers between Baze’s against the tree trunk. “But it must have taken it years to reach. It’s still strong on its own.”

“It’s beautiful.” He finally looked over at him again. “Chirrut...why did you bring me here? Not just _here_ – to the temple?”

“What do you mean?” He frowned slightly. “So you’d be safe. So you aren’t sleeping on the street. And because I know...” His voice faltered. “I know you belong.”

“You said I had to find my own path, didn’t you?”

“You still must. I’m not trying to force you down a path, because I _can’t_. I know it can’t be done. I just want you to feel this – I want you to know what _is_ possible.” He drew a slow, deep breath. “The temple itself is just a place, relics are just things. Texts are a guide but they aren’t the path itself. Even if you never come back here – I could never forgive myself if I didn’t try to show you what I feel in you. Maybe it is my only purpose with you. Maybe this is where our paths come together and then separate again. But I need you to know that you are more than you think you are.”

Baze was silent, stifled under the weight of Chirrut’s words. They should have been nothing but absurd, like everything else about meeting Chirrut should have been. They’d known each other so briefly and yet this little monk deigned to speak of him as if they were lifelong companions, so why wasn’t he offended? Perhaps, in some deeply-buried part of himself, he knew Chirrut was right. “I feel the energy here,” he confessed. “I don’t understand it, or you, but I do feel...something.”

Chirrut seemed to swell with pride, smiling brightly. “I know you do. I _knew_ you would,” he professed, tossing both arms around the tree and hugging it with overdramatized affection. Baze couldn’t help but laugh. “Hearing you happy is so wonderful,” Chirrut mumbled, letting go of the tree to turn his face into a cool breeze rolling in from the south. “It feels like everything is right in the world when you are at peace.”

“You say such grand things,” Baze sighed, barely realizing the words had left him aloud until Chirrut turned to face him again. “I still don’t understand why I mean anything to you.”

As if Baze weren’t already puzzled enough, Chirrut let out a loud laugh at that. “Baze Malbus,” he said, so adoringly it made Baze’s face flush. “Ever a seeker of _understanding_.”

A seeker, but apparently not one who would find any answers this day, or not from Chirrut at least, who was already heading for the temple once more, still smiling impishly. Baze stumbled slightly as he rushed to catch up. “You’re so strange,” he muttered, but didn’t object when Chirrut took his hand again.

“I want you to see my favorite place,” he said, leading him around to a narrow staircase. “It’s a long climb – are you feeling up to it?”

Baze snorted at the implication. “I think I can handle some stairs.”

Some, yes, but Baze was just about ready to collapse by the time they reach a small alcove in the high spire. They were not even halfway up the enormous structure, but the view was absolutely dizzying nonetheless, violent winds whipping Baze’s hair all around. He wasn’t certain how Chirrut noticed, but he still blushed when the monk giggled and reached over to ruffle his fingers in the wildly blowing strands. “I bet you look cute,” he teased.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he snorted, hoping it was not too apparent that he was pressing his back into the wall opposite the balcony, willing himself to not look down.

“It’s safe,” he said, nudging him gently. “I’m _blind_ and I come up here all the time. Do you think I’d stand out there if I didn’t think it was okay?”

“ _You_ can’t see how far you’d fall,” he snapped, and might have felt guilty for the remark if it weren’t so quickly met with Chirrut’s explosively loud laugh in response.

Chirrut reached for his hand. “That is a good point,” he conceded. “But come with me anyway.”

He recalled that he was still holding on to Chirrut’s hand, but he didn’t have time to be embarrassed before Chirrut was slowly coaxing him out the archway into the full force of the wind. “How can you stand it? I feel like I’m getting sandblasted!”

“Sit with me,” he shouted over the din of whirling winds, tugging at Baze’s sleeve as he lowers himself down to sit with his back to the parapet. “Come. You didn’t think I was here for the view, did you? It’s a perfect place to meditate.”

“But it’s so loud...”

“It drowns out everything,” he agrees, still shouting delightedly as Baze takes a seat next to him. “Plus, there’s no lift, and no one but me ever wants to take the stairs this high.”

“Unless you don’t warn them first.” Baze leaned a little closer to avoid having to shout, and Chirrut immediately tugged him closer still, laughing goofily.

“I warned you plenty,” he objected, coiling an arm around his shoulders. “Deep breaths, my friend. Let the sound of Jedha’s breath calm you.” Baze couldn’t imagine calm in this place. It was chaos. He leaned into Chirrut’s half-hug anyway though, hoping to lean in to get a look at his face without beating either of them to death with his hair. “Just relax, would you?” Chirrut chided, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Close your eyes.”

Baze listened, for some unfathomable reason; he shut his eyes and tried to let the roar of the wind fade into white noise. It was a challenge, but, he soon found, not impossible. Focus did not come naturally to him as it seemed to for Chirrut, but he could, with effort, sink out of his senses. He could feel Chirrut at his side, but the warmth of his presence seemed to fade from his skin to something deeper, a knowing feeling that he was there with him. The sound of Chirrut sighing softly pulled him back into himself, and he looked over to him, eyes lingering on his parted lips. “What is it you want me to take from this?”

“So impatient,” Chirrut muttered, sky blue eyes fluttering open. “There always has to be a transaction with you. A give-and-take.”

“That’s how the world works, when you’re not shut off way up here.”

“You’re my friend, and I want nothing from you.” Chirrut frowned. “I want to share these things with you.”

“That’s still wanting something.” He knew he was being belligerent, but if anything Chirrut seemed merely amused at the jab.

“Maybe it is, then, if you have to see it that way. I want you to be happy, so I want that you’ll let me show you these things...” He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, looking thoughtful. “You can make anything sound selfish playing games like that.”

“You can make anything sound selfless twisting it into wanting what’s best for a person.”

“No one argues with me like you,” he said with a grin. “It’s so nice. With a little study you’d be a theologian to match anyone here.”

Baze tilted his head, actually considering it a moment. “It might be nice,” he conceded. “Having more in common with you.”

“I suspect that you could stay by my side for decades and we’d still argue.”

“That’s not so bad, either,” Baze laughed. “Maybe I’d keep you in line.”

“Keep _me_ in line?!” Chirrut flashed him his best look of mock-indignation. “How could you have such a thought, Malbus?!”

Baze laughed loudly, freely. “Because you make faces like that at me. Ridiculous. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Is that a blind joke?”

“Was it a good one?”

Chirrut shoved him into the corner of the parapet, Baze still laughing goofily even as Chirrut hauled himself to his feet in a huff. “To think I was going to invite you to dinner with me. You big lout.”

Baze stumbled after him, just barely ducking the low archway in time to avoid smacking his head. “Come back here,” he complained as Chirrut made his way down the narrow staircase ahead of him.

“Do you miss me already?” Baze rounded the twisting spiral in the steps to see Chirrut waiting for him, grinning. “That’s sort of sweet.”

“Such a fool,” Baze scoffs mildly. “What makes you think I’m not just after dinner?”

“I don’t think that you are that kind of a man,” he chirped happily in response. “And as for what makes me think _that_ , I think you know the answer.”

“The Force,” Baze murmured.

Chirrut looked slightly surprised at this answer. “Maybe at first,” he half-conceded, brows furrowed curiously. He took another step down and stopped, looking thoughtful. “Come here,” he ordered bluntly, albeit gently enough that Baze only bristled a moment before clomping down the handful of steps between them.

“Don’t boss me around,” he grumbled, half-kidding, any further complaint silenced by Chirrut’s hand at his cheek.

“Promise me,” Chirrut whispered, disregarding Baze’s words. “Even if it’s just to visit at the gate, promise me you’ll come back here, no matter what work he has you doing.”

Baze froze. “Chirrut, why are you—”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Chirrut stroked his thumb across his cheek for what felt like an eternity; Baze thought it must be his equivalent of looking him over, seeking any hint of distress or dishonestly in his eyes. And, whether he’d fully admit it or not, he was happy to oblige, smiling faintly. He stiffened again when Chirrut leaned closer, unsure of his intentions, muscles seizing in anxious terror as the other leaned his staff against the wall so he could tug him closer with both hands at his shoulders. They stood close enough for their breath to mingle, Baze leaned over slightly with Chirrut’s fingers interlocked at the back of his neck, drawn closer until – Chirrut gently leaned his forehead against Baze’s and smirked.

“I have something for you,” he murmured, visibly amused at having set Baze’s nerves alight this way, and making no move to back away. He did release him, but Baze thought better of drawing back from him, which seemed to please Chirrut even more. The monk reached within the fold of his robes and freed a loop of twine with a small, gold pendant, and in one fluid motion pulled it over his head and over Baze’s to settle it around his neck. “Insurance.”

“In-insurance?” He stammered, back in his own personal space at last as Chirrut stepped back to pat a hand over the pendant at his chest.

“This necklace is precious to me, so you’ll have to bring it back.” He grinned. “And it’s good luck, so I want you to have it when you tell that asshole where he can shove his debt.”

Baze laughed in spite of himself. “You don’t believe in luck.”

“No, but you do.” He gave the necklace a little tug. “Besides, I bet it looks good on you.” Baze’s cheeks grew red yet again at this feeling of being somehow tagged – as a believer, as a member of the temple, or as _Chirrut’s_ , he wasn’t entirely sure. “Come. Dinner will be served soon. You can meet some of my friends.”

  


Baze wasn’t certain why he hadn’t considered this side of Chirrut’s life. Of course the young man had friends, admirers, a whole gaggle of blue-robed youths clamoring for his attention. He was kind, charming, faithful – it would be absurd if the others didn’t cluster around him this way. Maybe it was being given the luxury of being the entirety of Chirrut’s social life for a few weeks that made it slip his mind, or just that the other often seemed to ethereal, too rooted in his spiritual pursuits to spend time letting out ugly-charming snorts of laughter over dinner with his peers. When Chirrut had posed the idea he’d felt a little sting of jealousy, but mostly just a creeping fear that this would be the moment where Chirrut realized that he did not belong, could never belong. Instead the group welcomed him like family, and Baze found himself busily chewing just to fend off any visible emotional reaction.

“Chirrut likes to rescue everyone,” a teal-skinned Twi’lek girl pointed out, gesturing to him. “He even used to get in trouble for bringing hurt animals to the temple. Once he brought a little lizard that grew so big it took four of us to get it back out—”

Baze felt the color rising in his cheeks at this comparison, until Chirrut jumped in from around a mouthful of grilled vegetables. “Baze isn’t a stray, don’t say it like that.”

“I just meant that you’re nice to those in need—”

“He can take care of himself!” Chirrut whacked him on the back with one hand and Baze couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with him or with the girl, who seemed used to this sort of exchange. “Look! He’s strong. Really tough.”

“I’m...” He finally hesitantly interjected on his own behalf, albeit shyly, looking everywhere except at any of the Acolytes around the table with him. “I was doing okay, but I’m better off for having his help.”

Chirrut beamed. “But we’re all better for having you here,” he insisted. “You’re a good friend.”

The words were embarrassing enough when they were alone, but having the proclamation made in front of Chirrut’s peers – moreover, peers that could see the rosy flush it brought to his cheeks – was something else entirely. Chirrut must have sensed his anxiety, because he became notably more subdued, chattering happily about their day touring the temple grounds rather than lingering on where, exactly, Baze had come from, dodging the topic of how he’d ended up there with Chirrut. The others followed Chirrut’s lead; it was natural to do so. They told him about life at the temple, duties and training and the best places in the Holy Quarter to sneak off and buy treats. Baze soaked it in like basking in sunlight. _Friends_. Real ones, not those looking for a job or a discount or something worse.

He felt brave enough to speak up again after listening for a while; sitting shoulder to shoulder with Chirrut didn’t hurt. “Who does the cooking?” He asked with a faint laugh at his own focused interest. It had been some time since he’d eaten so well, after all. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s one of the duties,” Chirrut explained. “We do everything ourselves, for the residents and for the pilgrims who pass through. Cooking, cleaning up after, growing food in the garden—”

“The garden...” Baze hadn’t intended to interrupt, but then he hadn’t intended to be so interested in everything about this place, either. “I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll show you everything,” Chirrut offered instantly, ready to burst with pride. “There’s so much we won’t even get to see today. You have to come back.”

“I promised,” Baze responded without thinking, looking over at Chirrut. All else seemed to fade away in those moments of – well, it couldn’t be eye contact, not literally. The feeling of their attention on one another was palpable, and Baze scarcely wanted to break it though he recalled after a moment the three other pairs of _seeing_ eyes trained on them. The sensation remained, regardless.

  


And Chirrut did his best with their limited time, apparently trying to balance making the temple hopelessly appealing to Baze – which is was – with keeping up the appearance that he was still firmly certain Baze would have years and years to get to know the place fully. He really was endlessly kind to him, a feat Baze could scarcely understand even after all their time together, and he still flushed to the tips of his ears as Chirrut shooed away his friends after dinner with the insistence that he was only Baze’s for the rest of the evening. Once it came to an end, Baze felt something like sharp ice crystals beginning to form somewhere in his subconscious. It made his head ache, his stomach flip uncomfortably, though staying close to Chirrut seemed to ease the feeling.

“What is it?” The perceptive boy finally asked as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the edge of his bed, neither willing just yet to let the day be over. “Your thoughts are loud.”

“You can’t hear thoughts,” Baze grumbled rather than try to field an answer he was deeply unsure of himself.

“I can feel...activity.” He corrected him with a pout, sounding mildly offended. “And up here,” he continued, patting Baze’s head like he was a docile pet. “Feels very busy.”

“It’s been a strange day,” Baze supplied, and it was no lie even if it wasn’t quite the full story. “A strange few days.”

“A strange few months?” Chirrut joked gently, though he seemed to realize quickly that humor wasn’t exactly what Baze needed. He let out a little sigh and put a hand on his shoulder instead. “I’m not going to pretend to understand everything, Baze. But I want to learn.”

“Shouldn’t I say that about you?”

“If we can learn from each other, that’s the best thing, I think. We’ve come this far already.” He laughed a little. It was unclear where exactly they’d come to, but Baze couldn’t disagree. “Maybe I haven’t been fair in pushing you to stay here.”

“I’m in no hurry to sleep on the street.” _Alone_ , he added silently. “I don’t feel like you’re judging me or anything. I’m where I am by circumstance, the same as you. At least you thought to talk to me.”

Chirrut wound a strand of Baze’s hair around his finger, a habit he’d picked up quickly, and that Baze saw no reason to discourage. “I think we could do good things for the city, together,” he mused. “The Guardians mean well but we can be insular. So much of the order grows up right here, just like I did. Perhaps we aren’t reaching all of NiJedha the way we should.”

Baze glanced at him. “I don’t know everything about what you do here, but I can think of a few places to start.”

Chirrut beamed. “After you get things settled with Lok, we can make plans and bring it to the Elders.”

“You’re always full of big ideas, huh?” The words were teasing but his tone was nothing but adoring, and he let himself lean just a little closer. Chirrut’s smile only grew brighter when he did. “For being such a holy place, I’ve never felt like there was much hope in the city. But you...there’s something about you that makes me more optimistic.”

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, Baze Malbus.” He shifted and Baze thought – well, he _thought_ , and he hoped it wasn’t too loudly, but Chirrut was only moving to find the starbird pendant around his neck. He thumbed at the golden symbol, the back of his hand brushing Baze’s chest. “My Master gave me this when I was just a baby. They used to say it was a miracle of the Force that I had lived past a year.”

“We both just barely got away, hm?” He smiled, bittersweet, and folded his hand around Chirrut’s. “But that’s what you call the will of the Force, right?”

“Right.” He nestled against Baze’s shoulder, closing his eyes when Baze tipped his head to rest his cheek in the soft bristle of Chirrut’s hair. “Do you think you could ever believe?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t just say it because I want you to.”

Baze shook his head a little. “Do you think I’m that kind of person?”

“No,” Chirrut laughed. “You’re an honest man.” Baze shivered at the feeling of Chirrut’s breath on his neck as he tilted his face toward him. “Honorable...”

He swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken as Chirrut’s arm slides around his shoulders and his nose nestles just under his ear, ticklish but pleasant. “I try to be,” he whispered evasively, unsure of what to make of this new closeness.

Chirrut sighed softly. “I feel...warmth, in you. You keep it beneath the surface but I _know_...” He found Baze cheek with the other hand and thumbed at his lower lip. Baze didn’t feel all that warm, nor all that honest; in fact, he shivered again to think of the feelings for Chirrut he held back. “I know you care about me too, Baze.”

“I do,” he finally whispered – only half a confession at best, but it brought a smile to Chirrut’s face nonetheless.

“You’re a good man.” It felt like an eternity since the last time Chirrut had told him so though it had been only weeks. It felt easier to believe the second time, somehow, perhaps with the pull of sleep beginning to soften his edges, or the nearness of Chirrut’s petal-soft lips to his ear as he spoke.

“I want to be good,” he laughed, regretfully tilting his head away from him, though, albeit with an affectionate nuzzle into his hand. “I want to be as good as you think I am.”

Chirrut patted his cheek but visibly resisted arguing, instead stretching out on his bed and gesturing for Baze to join him. “You know what I want to say about that,” he said, hands in Baze’s hair as soon as he was within reach. “Instead, I will tell you that I admire your drive.”

“So much flattery,” he muttered. “Trying to charm me again?”

“I don’t think I need to charm you, Baze.” He let the implication hang, and even spared him teasing when his ears grew hot. “Roll over. I’ll braid your hair.”

Baze wasn’t sure he was serious, but took his chances and turned his back to the other. He was immediately rewarded with the sensation of Chirrut’s hands in his hair. It felt strangely intimate, but stranger still, he _wanted_ the closeness. “Why do you like touching my hair so much?”

“I don’t know. It’s soft.” He gave it a playful tug. “Like the rest of you. Besides, it’s soothes you, I can tell.” Baze just grunted. “It’s easier to sense those things here. The temple makes everything echo for me.”

“The kyber?”

“Mostly. I think the comfort helps, too, though. Just being somewhere safe and familiar.” He nudged Baze onto his stomach so he could properly gather up his hair to weave it into a short braid trailing down the back of his neck. “I felt it with you from the moment you let me sit and talk to you.”

“I don’t know how much help I’d be,” he murmurs sleepily. “But I’d do my best to keep you safe.”

“I know, Baze.” He combed out the braid with his fingers and started over again. Baze dozed off before he was halfway through.

This time, though, he did not drift into sleep so peacefully. Few images materialized fully at first, but a heavy feeling of dread pervaded his unconscious mind. Then, merely flashes – familiar sandy ground, pockmarked with glassy molten blaster marks. Smoke in the distance from the market. And _screams_. Horrible, blood-curdling shouts, distant and then rushing upon him like a sudden sandstorm. It was Chirrut, he suddenly knew, with the deathly certainty one possessed in dreams. He saw Chirrut’s tree uprooted and aflame in the courtyard, and there, draped across it, was Chirrut, bleeding, calling for him. Baze opened his mouth to scream but no sound would come; in an instant he was somewhere else, still collapsed helplessly in sand, still smelling ozone and vaguely aware of crumbling stone. And he was leaving – Chirrut was disappearing somehow, being torn from him—

Baze snapped awake in a cold sweat, the images still flashing across his consciousness. He struggled to steady his breath, or at least to keep his dragging gasps silent enough not to wake Chirrut. _Oh_ – Chirrut. When had he fallen asleep? But he was there, safe and sound, of course, despite the horrible images still clawing at the back of Baze’s mind. _Foolish_ , he thought. Dwelling on nightmares was especially pointless in the face of whatever _actual_ peril lay ahead. Not ready to pray in earnest just yet, Baze instead cast his eyes to Chirrut, slumbering peacefully, and tried to let the other’s serenity wash over him, instill in him a little bit of whatever magic or spirit or energy made him the beautiful, soothing presence he was.

Baze watched him sleep for longer than he probably should have. It was easy to forget his own youth, and Chirrut’s too, but in sleep the monk looked as small and vulnerable as Baze felt. He brushed a hand over Chirrut’s short-cropped hair, relishing in the soft hum it drew from him. He didn’t have long to enjoy it, though; Lok would be in the market in mere hours, and he wouldn’t be happy to find his last payment not just short, but completely nonexistent. Whatever job he’d give Baze to make up the difference, it would be miserable, and he wouldn’t see a dime for himself. Still, he couldn’t help thinking he was more worried than he had any right to be, haunted by a sinking dread at the thought of walking away from Chirrut even for a few hours.

Chirrut stirred as if hearing his intense anxieties projected out too loudly – or perhaps it was just the careful touch through his hair starting to trail down his face. “Baze?” His voice was a sleepy purr that sent goosebumps prickling up the back of Baze’s neck. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, his voice hitching as Chirrut nuzzled into his palm. “I’m scared.”

“Of Lok?” Chirrut reached up to grasp at a handful of Baze’s shirt and tug him down against his chest, and Baze was just groggy enough, just needy enough for the affection, to go along without hesitation. “I’ll be right there with you.”

“I have a bad feeling,” he explained shakily, closing his eyes as Chirrut wrapped both arms around him and held him close.

“You sense something?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to go.”

“Ah, Baze...” Chirrut smiled, running a hand through Baze’s hair. “I know you will always come back to me.”

It was an enigmatic answer even by Chirrut’s standards, and Baze simply fell silent again until the rise and fall of Chirrut’s chest was slow and even enough that he was sure he was asleep. He slowly drew away from the embrace, careful not to wake him again. Chirrut was always so certain about everything. It should have been reassuring, but all Baze could think was that it would eventually carry him headlong into danger, and that there was every chance Baze was now leading him right to it. He looked at the chrono on Chirrut’s bedside table, and back to his friend, sound asleep.

“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered, before leaning down to kiss his forehead. Maybe he’d be back before Chirrut even woke up, he thought. This would be safer, in any case – whatever was causing him such dread, he didn’t want Chirrut anywhere near it. So he left before daybreak, padding quietly out of the temple, Chirrut’s precious starbird hidden beneath his robes, against his heart.

  


Baze spied Lok in the pale, bleary light, kicking at the picked over remains of the garments he’d left behind. His trunk was gone, of course, the datapad, most of the clothes. And even then, staring down the imposing Zabrak as he toed at an empty bag, Baze couldn’t find it in himself to care. He would honor his debts but he would give no more of himself to this creature, be it in credits or something more.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I got robbed.”

“You owe me. You owe me _a lot_.”

“I don’t have it, so do whatever you’re going to do.”

Lok was unmoved by this declaration one way or another. “If you think I’m going to be taken in by your gall, Malbus, you’re sorely mistaken.” Only dim annoyance tinted his words, and the casual response chilled Baze to the bone. “I’m disappointed you just folded, I have to say. This isn’t the first time this has happened to you if I recall.”

“That was...” He swallowed. He hadn’t actually thought of Sitrin – the good times or the bad – in weeks. “That was different. It’s not like I handed anything over to these guys. I told you, they beat the hell out of me—”

“I’m not interested in tales, Malbus. Whether you were tackled in the road or had your little heart broken is all the same to me, and my bosses care even less, but I don’t think I need to tell you that.” He looked around as if suspicious which, Baze mused, he probably was, even more constantly than Baze himself. “I have another job for you. A big one. You know how to shoot a blaster?”

Baze’s blood ran cold. “I’ve – I’ve used one. Just shot it in the air, though.”

“But you can fight. I’ve seen you fight.”

“Yeah. Hand to hand, or with a vibroblade.”

“Maybe even better. More subtle.” He squinted in thought a moment. “Pack up whatever you have and come on, then.”

He’d already made it three or four long strides away before Baze’s mind caught up to everything that had been said, before he could pull it back from utter terror and racing thoughts to focus on the present. “Come where?” He finally sputtered, not budging from his position. “What do you want me to do? I’m not a – a hitman.”

“Aleen. Another little desert dump, you’ll feel right at home. It’s not far. I’m dropping cargo there, and you’re part of it now.” He chuckled. “Surely you haven’t lived in this shithole all this time without taking a life or two. I thought that’s how you operated around here.”

Baze blanched. He’d beaten up thieves a hundred times. He’d clubbed an attacker within an inch of life before and felt his soul die even for that – he could not imagine going further. “You have to give me something else. I won’t pay you this way.” He could have kicked himself for the way his voice shook. “Please, Lok. I’m trying to do right by you but I – I can’t.”

Again, Lok only managed to look annoyed. “I have my orders, Malbus. Come. Make this easier on both of us.”

“No,” he said again, more resolutely. “I can’t leave.”

Lok slowly but surely drew a blaster from his hip, and Baze wondered whether he had enough time to run. “Come,” the man ordered again. “You owe me. Are you not a man of honor?”

Baze winced. The only thing worse than being manipulated, he thought, was knowing full well that he was being manipulated, and being powerless to stop it anyway. “I have honor,” he shouted back at him, trying to sound infinitely more confident than he felt. “I’ll pay you back, but I’m not leaving.”

Lok raised the weapon. Baze bolted. He heard the shots ringing out behind him: stun bolts, but harsh ones, crackling with electricity, from some kind of jury-rigged illegal contraption of a blaster. He charged as fast as his feet would carry him through the winding alleys he knew so well, searching for anywhere to hide long enough to formulate a plan. But he quickly became aware of more than two feet storming up behind him; he cursed himself for the delusion that Lok would have come alone to make such a demand of him. He heard them split up, and before he could think clearly enough to duck into – into anywhere, to find anyone to help, to do _anything_ – he collides headlong with one of Lok’s reinforcements, a hulking Sabat who stumbled only a step back before grasping Baze painfully by the neck. A horrible flash of familiarity seared through Baze’s consciousness.

“You—” he choked out, fury alone carrying the words from his crushed throat. “You fuckers _robbed me_ —”

Baze suddenly hit the ground, gasping for air as he was abruptly dropped from the man’s horrible fleshy hand. He sucked in breaths desperately, and it took a beat for his still-swimming mind to fully comprehend what had happened. Chirrut stood before him, staff bloodied by the vicious strike he’d just delivered to the Sabat’s head. Wild-eyed, he grabbed at Baze frantically, tugging him to his feet and running, _running_ as hard as either of them could.

“Chirrut,” Baze wheezed, stunned at the monk’s agility in the narrow streets. “You have to go. You have to get out of here.”

“So do you, you idiot,” he growled. “I can’t believe you just _left_.”

“Not that way,” Baze shouted, but Chirrut rounded the corner and he stumbled after, only to come face to face with two more thugs. Baze was _sure_. It had been dark, but he _knew_ , with certainty he wished he didn’t possess, that Lok’s gang had robbed him days ago. It made sense, he thought cynically, even as he was striking out with both fists frantically against one of the attackers. They’d be paid double – he struck him in the face, feeling cartilage crack beneath his fist – _honorable_ Baze would slave away to pay his debt – he hit him again, again, _again,_ until he wasn’t sure what was his own blood and what belonged to this beast of a man – and all the while they’d break him down until he couldn’t say no—

“Baze!” Chirrut shouted, breaking through the delirious fog of violence rocking his consciousness. “ _Stop_ , Baze, we have to go—” He must have dispatched the second man. Or had Baze done it himself? He could no longer remember.

“They did this,” he snarled, shaking head to toe. “They’ve been doing this _my whole life—_ ”

“We have to _run_ , Baze.” Chirrut looked terrified. That was Baze’s only thought – his last thought of Jedha. His last image. Chirrut looked absolutely petrified, and he couldn’t be sure whether he was afraid _for_ him or afraid _of_ him.

Then, in quick succession, there was the sound of a stunner blast behind him, the feeling of his nerves burning, and total darkness.


End file.
